


the daylight seems to want you

by owlinaminor



Series: love, heat, and screaming children [2]
Category: Haikyuu!!
Genre: Alternate Universe, Alternate Universe - Summer Camp, Dreams, Friendship, Genderfluid Character, M/M, genderfluid kenma
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2015-08-26
Updated: 2015-08-26
Packaged: 2018-04-17 10:09:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 3,539
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/4662687
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/owlinaminor/pseuds/owlinaminor
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The alarm reaches Kenma as though through ten feet of water – as though they’re sitting at the bottom of a pool and a lifeguard is calling their name, but the syllables are muddled and dampened enough to be barely recognizable.</p>
<p>Their phone buzzes, it beeps, it chirps.  It calls out as urgently as it is able.</p>
<p>Kenma has never been one for urgency, on court or off it.  They roll over and slip deeper into sleep.</p>
            </blockquote>





	the daylight seems to want you

**Author's Note:**

> this fic was written as a present for my boyfriend, who is in the middle of college orientation right now and loves kozume kenma more than life itself. thanks for getting me into haikyuu!!, you fucking weeb. I hope you’re making friends and eating proper breakfasts.
> 
> title is from ‘crack the shutters’, by snow patrol.
> 
> also! kenma in this au is genderfluid and uses they/them pronouns.

**day one.**

_7:15 A.M._

_Beep.  Beep, beep.  Be-be-beep._

The alarm reaches Kenma as though through ten feet of water – as though they’re sitting at the bottom of a pool and a lifeguard is calling their name, but the syllables are muddled and dampened enough to be barely recognizable.

Their phone buzzes, it beeps, it chirps.  It calls out as urgently as it is able.

Kenma has never been one for urgency, on court or off it.  They roll over and slip deeper into sleep.

 

_7:20 A.M._

The second alarm is louder than the first – someone has turned up the volume in the faint hope that it’ll make some measure of difference.  To Kenma, it sounds quieter.  They’re extensively involved in a dream about fighting a pixelated dragon, and the noise only reaches them as a sound of distress when one of their poison-tipped arrows pierces the beast’s hide.

Kenma’s lips curve up slightly in satisfaction.  They sleep on.

 

_7:25 A.M._

The third alarm is accompanied by shouting.

“Kenma!” Kuroo exclaims, cupping his hands around his mouth as though cheering at a championship match.  “Kenma, wake up!  Kenma!  Kenma!  Kenma!”

Kenma is still caught in the middle of the dream.  They’ve defeated the dragon now, and the townspeople they saved from certain destruction have thrown is a great festival in their honor.  Kuroo’s voice reaches Kenma as that of the people, eagerly toasting their victory, while Kenma sits alone near the top of a clock tower, safe from talking to anyone as they plan their campaign against an orc in the next village.

Outside the dream, Kenma snuggles deeper into their blankets.  Kuroo continues chanting for another minute, but soon realizes it’s basically pointless.

He could hit Kenma on the arm, or roll them right out of bed (both tactics that have had a fifty percent success rate in the past), but if he did either of those things, Kenma almost definitely wouldn’t talk to him for the rest of the day.

And besides, they look so cute sleeping there, curled up in the blankets like a cat, morning sunlight painting their face in soft light ... Okay, so maybe Kuroo’s not the best person for this waking up Kenma gig.

Still, he switches on the next five alarms on Kenma’s phone, turns the volume all the way up, and tiptoes out the cabin door.

 

_8:05 A.M._

Kenma blinks their eyes open slowly.

They wake up as though emerging from the bottom of a deep pool, in a constant fight against gravity.  It takes a good two minutes, all of which Kenma spends mentally lamenting how terrible mornings are.

Once they’ve gained enough wakefulness, they sit up and look around.  The cabin is empty, the sunlight coming through the flimsy, plastic blinds is uncomfortably bright, and Kenma’s phone is beeping urgently.  It probably has been for a while, they think.

Kenma gets up with a truly superhuman amount of effort, limbs moving as though coated in molasses.  They get dressed, grab their backpack, and stumble out the door.

By the time Kenma reaches the dining hall, breakfast is already almost over.  As usual.

“Morning,” Kuroo greets Kenma with a bright grin.  “Saved you a muffin and a banana.”

Kenma sits, drops their head onto the wooden table, and promptly falls back asleep. 

* * *

**day two.**

_7:10 A.M._

Kenma is having a really pleasant dream.

They’re sitting in a field of wildflowers, looking up at the sky.  The weather is partly sunny, partly cloudy, and the perfect temperature – neither too hot nor too cold, with the slightest hint of a breeze.  And, best of all, there’s not another person for kilometers around. Kenma could happily sit here for hours.

And then, all of a sudden, impossibly loud music breaks into the peaceful scenery.  A bassline is pumping, a guitar is wailing, drums are pounding, and someone is screeching in a language Kenma doesn’t understand – and now they’re too hot, and the flowers wilt, and the vision begins to dissolve – they have to get it _back._  They want that peace and solitude.  They need it.

(Kuroo watches, stunned, as Kenma grabs their pillow and pulls it soundly over their head, then rolls over and continues to sleep.)

The music fades until it’s only a dull roar in the back of Kenma’s head.  Still annoying, but much easier to ignore.  They settle back against the grass, content with the reigning quiet.

 

_7:20 A.M._

Kenma lies on their back in the grass, looking up at the clouds.

It’s amazing, they think absently, how easy it is to find shapes in the clouds if you look.  There’s an ice cream cone, and a sleeping cat, and a tree that looks just like that big old beech near the camp entrance –

Music crashes through the atmosphere, louder than before.  The clouds flee in fright.  The flowers are practically flattened by the strength of the bassline.

Kenma looks for the source of the music and finds a bird right next to their ear.  The bird’s beak is wide open, but instead of screeching or singing, it’s somehow emitting the terrible racket disturbing Kenma’s very peaceful dream.

Well.  Kenma has no particular love for birds.  They reach out one arm, summon all of their strength, and shove the bird as far away as possible.

Kenma hears a vague crash and a shout of alarm, and the bird disappears in a cloud of black smoke.

They return to looking at clouds.  That one has almost spiky tufts, like Bokuto’s hair ...

 

_8:15 A.M._

As Kenma slowly pulls on a pair of red and white socks, they wonder mildly what they were dreaming about.  They remember clouds, and ... a loud noise?  No, that can’t be right.  Kenma’s dreams are always quiet.

They lace up their sneakers, then glance at the clock for the first time that morning.  Late for breakfast again.  Oh, well – good thing Kenma’s not very hungry.

(On their way out the cabin door, they nearly step on a piece of broken plastic.)

 

_5:05 P.M._

“Kuroo,” Kenma says.

The counselor in question looks up from his manga.  (He’s lying on his back in his bunk, re-reading Dragon Ball Z for the twentieth time.  Kenma spares a moment to appreciate just how big of a nerd their best friend is.)

“Hey, Kenma!” Kuroo exclaims, grinning.  “What’s up?”

“No music?” Kenma asks.  They gesture to the quiet cabin, which would normally be filled with music from Kuroo’s speakers during this time of day.  Kenma doesn’t exactly agree with Kuroo’s taste in music, but it helps keep the kids focused and encourages them not to bother Kenma during what is _supposed_ to be a relaxation hour.

At Kenma’s question, the smile drops right off Kuroo’s face.  “You mean you don’t remember?”

Clearly, Kenma doesn’t, or they wouldn’t be asking.  “Remember what?”

“This morning, I tried to wake you up by playing loud music really close to your ear,” Kuroo explains, “but you knocked the speaker out of my hand and it smashed on the floor.  So, no more music.”

Kenma feels their face going pink.  Maybe this sleeping in late business is a bigger problem than they originally thought.

“Hey, don’t sweat it,” Kuroo says, seeing his friend’s expression.  “It’s no big deal.  I can always get a new one.”

Kenma turns and heads back to their bunk without a word, half guilty and half wondering – Kuroo loved that portable speaker, forbid any campers from even going _near_ it, so why would he not get mad when Kenma destroyed it?

Oh, well.  It’s a question for another day.  Right now, Kenma has paperwork to do. 

* * *

**day three.**

_7:25 A.M._

Today, in Kenma’s dream, they’re sitting on the front steps of their house, looking out at a snow-covered street.

Kenma loves the snow.  The world after a snowstorm is quiet, peaceful – everything snugly tucked into a blanket of pure white.  All the noises and colors of the world are faded, muffled – a break from the constant cacophony that usually runs the city.  A city like this, clean and quiet, is the kind of city that Kenma wants to live in.  Yes, it’s cold, but that’s okay – Kenma much prefers the cold to the heat.  They can always put on another sweatshirt, but if they’re hot, there’s only so much they can take off.

As though summoned by the words “take off”, a figure dressed all in black appears at the end of the street.  It burns through the quiet as easily as a flame burns through pine needles, running – or, no, _rolling_ , Kenma realizes, rolling through the neighborhood on what appears to be a children’s red wagon.

The figure is much too big for the wagon, but it rides nevertheless, standing up in the middle of the metal toy with arms spread wide.

“YOU CAN’T RIDE IN MY LITTLE RED WAGON!” the figure screams.  It sounds like a banshee, or a counselor frantically trying to maintain control of their kids at lunchtime.

And then, as though that isn’t enough, a whole horde of little kids appear.  They frantically run after the figure in the wagon, yelling a refrain of the song.  But with twenty different voices all loudly forbidding rides in their red wagons, the result is worse than a group of orchestra players attempting band instruments for the first time with no conductor to stop them.

This is worse than just _loud._  This is terrifying.  It’s hellish.  It’s ... it’s ...

Kenma doesn’t think, just acts on instinct.  Their hands are forming a snowball from the snow on the porch railing and chucking it at the leader in black before they have time to second-guess themselves.

The snowball collides with a solid _thunk_ and the dreadful apparition dissolves.  Kenma sits back and lets out a quiet, satisfied sigh.

Peace is restored.

 

_8:45 A.M._

Kenma pushes open the dining hall door with a yawn.

They’re late to breakfast today, that’s for sure.  Probably very late.  They would say precisely _how_ late, but they haven’t been able to find their phone, and they never bothered to get a watch at the beginning of the summer like counselors are supposed to.  But Kenma isn’t worried – Kuroo’s saved them some food every day since the first day they were late (which was, well, the second day of camp) and they don’t expect that to change now.  Kuroo’s obnoxious, yes, but he’s a good friend.  Kuroo is kinder than he likes to admit.  And Kuroo is ...

Not here.

Kenma scans the dining hall, checking their usual table, the serving window, the bathrooms, the staff porch, and everywhere else they can think of, and finds nothing.  Breakfast appears to be almost finished – the tables are already clean, and, wow, Kenma is _really_ late – but Kuroo should still be here.  He _should._  Kenma’s heart beats loudly, as though trying to leap out of their throat.

“Hey, Kozume!”  Bokuto, one of the other counselors from their unit, catches Kenma’s eye and waves them over.  He doesn’t look worried – but then again, Bokuto never looks worried, just happy, angry, or depressed, so that doesn’t say much.

As Kenma approaches his table, Bokuto says, “You’re looking for Kuroo, right?”

Kenma nods.

“Thought so.  Well, have no fear!” Bokuto exclaims.  “He’s at the nurse, with that kid you hit.”

That last phrase takes a moment to sink in.

“That kid I ...” Kenma echoes, hoping their expression doesn’t betray how shaky their limbs feel – as though they’ve been turned to jelly.

Bokuto eyes Kenma for a moment, then slaps his palm to his forehead in realization.  “Right, you don’t remember.  Kuroo tried to wake you up by getting the whole unit to sing Little Red Wagon really loudly right next to your bunk, but instead of waking up, you got mad and threw your phone at him.  Your unconscious aim isn’t very good, though,” Bokuto adds, snickering.  “You hit Shinji instead.  Gave the kid a black eye, even.”

Akaashi, sitting next to Bokuto, punches him in the shoulder, _hard._  “That’s not funny.”

“It’s _kinda_ funny,” Bokuto argues.

Kenma doesn’t stay to listen to Akaashi lecture Bokuto – instead, they shuffle out of the dining hall much quickly than they’d come in.

Luckily, the nurse’s office isn’t far, so it’s only been a few minutes when Kenma knocks on the door.

“Come in!” a familiar voice calls.

Kenma does.  Inside, Kuroo is kneeling on the floor next to a cot.  On the edge of the cot, his feet dangling, sits Shinji – a small kid with large, dark eyes who likes looking at bugs and sitting on the big raft during free swim, and never hurt anyone in his life.

Kenma doesn’t usually care much about the consequences of their actions, but they do feel a distinct pang of guilt at the sight of the bruise around Shinji’s right eye.  Shinji’s holding up an icepack to it, but it still looks pretty ugly.

Kenma is quick to kneel down next to Kuroo.  “Shinji,” they say, holding the boy’s gaze, “I’m very sorry.  I promise, I didn’t mean to hurt you.”

“It’s okay,” Shinji answers.  He doesn’t sound mad, just strangely serious – but that’s normal, for him.  “It didn’t hurt much.  And it looks kinda cool.”

Kenma can’t help a small smile at that.  “It does,” they agree.  “How about I teach you a cool new card game later to make up for it?”

Shinji’s eyes widen, and he nods eagerly.

Kenma nods back, more relieved than they’ll let on.  They turn to Kuroo and hold out their hand.

“You know, you really need to work on waking up on time,” Kuroo remarks, taking Kenma’s phone out of his pocket and placing it agreeably in the waiting hand.

Kenma shrugs.  “Next time, don’t involve our campers,” they say.  And then, to Shinji, “Want to go see if there’s any breakfast left?”

* * *

**day four.**

_7:20 A.M._

Kenma sleeps soundly, unburdened by dreams.

Yesterday afternoon, they led an intense game of Mafia for two full units when it started raining in the middle of free swim, and the effort of imagining one complex death scenario after another to keep the kids entertained (without asking any of the other counselors, who would never let them live that down, for help) has left Kenma’s creativity completely drained.  Instead, they drift peacefully in a deep sleep, like lying on their back in a jet-black lake with a starless sky above.

(Kenma’s sleeping so calmly, so serenely, with the slightest hint of a smile on their face.  Kuroo has never hesitated so much over anything as he hesitates over what he’s about to do now.  But then, their unit will get in trouble if Kenma’s late _again_ , and Bokuto bet him five hundred yen that this won’t work, so.)

_Splash!_

The peaceful lake has suddenly turned freezing cold, and they’ve been flipped from back to stomach – and holy shit _holy shit_ why is it so hard to breathe –

Kenma paddles their arms wildly, getting their head back above water.  They sputter and couch, heart racing pulse flying, and finally blink their eyes open to see –

Kuroo.  Standing next to the bank.  With an empty bucket in his hands.

“Good morning, Kenma,” the asshole says, grinning as though he didn’t just _dump_ _an entire bucket of water_ on his best friend.

Kenma does not swim.  They do not participate in games of Drip, Drip, Splash.  They do not run through sprinklers, or splash people in other canoes, or stand in front of running hoses.  They will participate in water balloon tosses, but only very cautiously.  They love water about as much as a cat who was nearly drowned at birth might love water.

And now, Kenma is freezing cold, soaked to the bone – and _besides that,_ their bed is wet, and their pajamas, and probably their phone and PSP, too.  This waking up strategy was Kuroo’s worst idea yet.

Kenma is neither a screamer nor a lecturer, so they convey all of this through a glare.  It’s a good glare, though – a hard, determined glare, not a dagger so much as a blunt sword that just won’t quit.  Kenma doesn’t have to use it often (they have about three times in the past five years), but when they do, it’s nothing short of terrifying.

Kuroo caves after about ten seconds.  “Sorry, Kenma,” he says.  “Bad idea.  Got it.”  And he slinks away, still pierced by his friend’s glare.

 

_8:05 A.M._

“Hey, Kenma!  It’s nice to see you actually at breakfast on time, for once!”

Kenma bristles, ready to snarl at whoever made that comment – but when they turn around to find Hinata Shoyou smiling cheerfully from behind them in the breakfast line, they let down their claws.

Shoyou was Kenma’s CIT the first week of camp.  He’s unbelievably enthusiastic and seems to have infinite reserves of energy – Kenma gets tired just watching him, sometimes – but he’s a good kid, and a good CIT.  And he’s okay with dominating conversations in which Kenma says next to nothing, which is very important to them.

“Morning, Shoyou,” Kenma replies.

Shoyou peers more closely at Kenma, blue eyes blinking rapidly.  “Are you okay?  You look really ... Wet.”

Kenma runs a hand through their hair self-consciously.  They have to put it in a ponytail after showering, or it gets frizzy, which is disastrous.  “Yeah, well,” they say, “Kuroo decided to wake me up by dumping a bucket of cold water on me.  And then I had to shower.”

Shoyou’s eyes widen in that starry, awed look he gets whenever someone around him does something he considers cool – but this time, it’s not a happy look.  “He did that?” he asks.  “Really?”

Kenma nods, not sure what else to say.

“That’s _terrible_ ,” Shoyou expounds.

Kenma shrugs.  It's not great, they suppose – and they’re still pretty mad at Kuroo – but thinking about it rationally, they have to admit that the situation is partially their fault.

“Well, if I could wake up on time, it wouldn’t have happened,” they tell Shoyou.

The CIT only shakes his head vehemently in response.  “No, I meant – it’s terrible that he actually had to dump water on you to wake you up.  Kuroo’s pretty stupid, huh?”  Shoyou suddenly realizes what he said, and his face goes red as a bad sunburn.  “I – I mean – not to be disrespectful –”

“No, it’s true,” Kenma interrupts him.  “Don’t worry about offending me.  And he’s not here.  But I don’t know how much him being stupid has to do with his strategies to wake me up – that’s more on me.  I’m a heavy sleeper.”

Shoyou narrows his eyes, and Kenma takes a step back almost instinctively.  He’s got that _look_ – the intense look, the scary look, the _is that a challenge_ look.  Kenma’s only ever seen it directed at Kageyama, one of the other CITs, before.

“I can wake you up tomorrow,” Shoyou says.  His words have the syntax of a suggestion, but the tone of a command.

And besides, why not?  Kuroo hasn’t exactly been doing a great job.  Kenma nods in agreement.

“Yeah!” Shoyou whoops, jumping half a meter in the air.  “You won’t regret this!”

* * *

**day five.**

_7:15 A.M._

Kenma opens their eyes.

They’re acutely aware of a thousand small details of the world around them – the sunlight pouring in through the window, the scent of pine wafting off the trees outside, the sound of birds greeting the new day, and an acute sense of pain in their stomach.  This is strange, this feeling – as though they’ve been shot through with caffeine.

It’s wakefulness, Kenma realizes.   _I’m actually awake._

And then, their entire field of vision is suddenly taken over by bright orange – then shifting to tan forehead – then settling on sparkling amber eyes.

“Good morning, Kenma!” Shoyou shouts.  He accompanies his words with a bounce on Kenma’s stomach.

Oh.  That explains the pain.

“Hi, Shoyou,” Kenma replies.  “Could you, maybe ...”  They motion to Shoyou’s knees, placed solidly on Kenma’s stomach.

“Yeah, right, of course.”  Shoyou shifts quickly, moving off of Kenma and landing with a dull thud on the floor next to the bunk.  “So, did that work?” he asks.

Kenma stands, and – yes, they’re tired, but they’re awake.  They’re definitely awake.  With no harm done to camper or expensive electronic device.  And – Kenma glances at their phone – right on time, too.

“Yeah,” they say.  “Although my stomach hurts quite a bit now.”

Shoyou shrugs.  “You’ll get used to it.  Tanaka did.”

Tanaka?  As in, Tanaka Ryuu, the counselor from Karasuno with the shaved head?  Has Shoyou used this tactic before?

“Do you do this to _all_ of your senpai?” Kenma wonders aloud.

“Nope,” Shoyou answers, popping the _p_ at the end of the word.  He grins.  “Only the ones I really like.  Anyway, see you at breakfast!”

“See you at breakfast,” Kenma echoes.

They stand there for a moment, marveling at the strange, warm feeling in their chest – as though a new sun has taken up residence there – then go to inform Kuroo that his assistance won’t be needed in the mornings any more.

**Author's Note:**

> don't worry, friends, kuroken is still happening. just ... in a later fic. ;)
> 
> for those of you unaware with summer camp conventions: CIT stands for counselor in training. (in this au, all of the canon first-years are CITs. second- and third-years are counselors.) oh, and little red wagon is a very loud repeat-after-me song that goes, “YOU CAN’T RIDE IN MY LITTLE RED WAGON! FRONT SEAT’S BROKEN AND THE AXLE’S DRAGGIN’! BOLT-A-BOLT-A-BOLT-A-A!” and is then repeated a couple more times, a whole lot louder and a whole lot worse. only sing it around five-year-olds if you really want to hear screaming.
> 
> please come bother me on [tumblr](http://dadmaxfurymom.tumblr.com/) and ask me about this au!! I have literally so much planned. (next up is probably going to be kagehina.)


End file.
